


Syndikat

by Ivartheboneme



Series: Modern AUs [1]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Vikings (TV)
Genre: A little bit of blood, Biting, Choking, F/M, Gun Kink, Gunplay, Hand Jobs, Mafia AU, Minor Violence, Modern AU, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, Spanking, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vikings mafia au, Vikings modern au, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivartheboneme/pseuds/Ivartheboneme
Summary: So, I've been on bedrest for almost a week and I have spent my days fangirling over both Ivar the Boneless and Tom Hiddleston. It started out as a smutty one-shot to make me feel better, but now I kind of want to make a multichapter story. We will see what happens XDP.S this is all tumblr's fault, especially a few people :pPlease note that for all of my works that have sexual content, all relevant characters are at least 18 years old. If they are not yet 18 in canon, I age them up.





	Syndikat

**Author's Note:**

> Christiansborg slot: http://www.visitcopenhagen.com/copenhagen/christiansborg-palace-gdk420896  
> Det Kongelige Bibliotek: http://www.kb.dk/da/index.html
> 
> WORDS
> 
> Syndikat - Syndicate  
> Hore - Whore  
> Helvede - Hell  
> Dróttning - Queen
> 
> GUNPLAY: I have never engaged in gunplay, this was just something that I came up with instead of going to sleep last night after having found an article on the "Top 10 mob weapons in history".

The driver stops outside the apartment building. He gets out of the car, adjusts his tie, and opens the door for you.

”Ladies first.” Dag says in his Oslo dialect. He smiles and reaches a hand out for you to use as support.

”Thank you, Dag.” You say, returning the smile and accepting his warm hand. An angry voice comes floating from the other side of the back seat.

“Hurry up.” Dag immediately straightens his back and the playful glint in his eyes disappears.

“Of course, mr Ragnarsson.” He makes sure that you get out of the car and then opens the trunk to take out the wheelchair. He moves to open the door but Ivar pushes it open and swings his legs out. Dag awkwardly backs away and moves the wheelchair closer to the door. He knows better than to ask his boss's son if he needs help and so you both watch in silence as the darkhaired young man slumps down in the wheelchair with a loud grunt. Ivar places his hands on the wheels and starts rolling towards you. Once he reaches the side-walk you step behind him, tilt the wheelchair slightly backwards and help him onto the pavement.

“Is there anything else I can do for you today, miss?” Dag asks. You glance at him over your shoulder and notice that the glint in his eyes has returned now that there's some distance between him and Ivar again.

“No. Leave now.” Ivar cuts in before you can answer. You shoot him an annoyed look and then turn to Dag.

“We're fine, thank you.” Dag nods and sits down in the driver's seat again. He waves to you before closing the door and driving off in the black car with tinted windows. Ivar has already started rolling towards the entrance and you hurry to catch up with him so that you can hold the door open for him. His jaws are tense and you're tempted to reach out and drag a finger over the sharp lines. Instead, you get in the elevator with him and press the button that will take you to the top floor. The elevator doors have barely closed before Ivar's hand is at your ass.

“Do you have to be so rude to Dag?” You sigh while his fingers wander over your covered skin.

“I don't like the way he looks at you.” Ivar growls and squeezes your right cheek tightly to remind you that you're his.

 

After your parents died, Aslaug took you in and raised you along with her youngest son. At first you thought it was just her way of apologizing for your parents dying while working for her but as you became older you started to suspect that she was also grooming you to be Ivar's woman. Not that you were complaining; being a part of the inner circle came with many perks including no student loans and a handful of people ready to follow your every order. One week ago, when you and Ivar became officially engaged, you were also given this apartment. It was far better than anything you would have been able to afford on your own as a university student. There was a period in the middle of your teenage years where you rebelled against Aslaug's guidance and came up with creative ways of escaping the villa where most of the main family lived together. Most nights you had just gone for walks, maybe flirted with some random guy you met, but after a while you amped up the game and flirted your way into clubs that you were too young for. The night often ended with you in the back seat of some guy's car, clawing at his skin while he fucked you senseless. You'd stumble back to your room and fall asleep sometime around the break of dawn. After a few weeks of this behaviour you were summoned to Aslaug's office. She explained that she knew about the night time adventures and said that she understood it must be frustrating not being able to have a physical relationship with Ivar. You bit your tongue to keep yourself from snarling that it would be less frustrating if you'd be allowed to share a bed with him and at least try. She gave you permission to see other men as long as you kept it discreet and didn't get involved in any serious relationship.

“I won't have you end up pregnant and eloping with some semi-alcoholic bartender.” She snorted and that ended the discussion.

 

The elevator reaches the top floor and you exit, taking the key from your pocket. Your fiancé rolls into the hall while you hold the door open for him. While Ivar struggles to untie his shoes you walk through the living room and open the door to the balcony. You step outside and, as usual, find yourself silently thanking Aslaug for giving you this. The apartment building is in central Copenhagen and you have an amazing view of both Christiansborg Slot and Det Kongelige Bibliotek. The purpose of this place is of course to make your fiancé and you look more like a real couple. It is also a reward to you for playing the dutiful wife-to-be in front of the syndicate, even when Ivar shows off his least desirable traits. You stay on the balcony for a few minutes, letting the cool air wash over you and extinguish the fire that Ivar's touch has started. _He is not to be touched_.

 

Ivar sinks down in the couch. His hand finds your thigh and starts to explore it through your jeans; he has always made a point of groping you at gatherings when others can see but in the week that you have been living together he has been a bit more distant.

“What are you doing?” He asks. You force yourself to keep spinning the pencil in your hand and not look up from the book in front of you.

“I'm trying to study.” You murmur, repeating Aslaug's words in your head like a mantra. _Ivar is not to be touched, Ivar is not to be touched_. It's the stupidest thing you've ever heard; anyone with eyes can see that he is made to be touched. Silky hair, piercing blue eyes, jawline and cheekbones as sharp as the knife his father had given to him. You saw his naked chest once and the memory is enough to send heat shooting through your body. On the off chance that any of your lovers can't meet up, that memory works well enough to give you some release. He snatches the pencil from you and begins to twirl it between long fingers.

“My legs hurt.” You slam the book shut, knowing that you won't get anything done until he's gotten help.

“I'll call Birgitta.” You reach for the cellphone but Ivar stops you with a low growl.

“No.” He tosses the pencil on the table and then moves to the wheelchair “Come help me.” Your heart starts to race but you know you have to dismiss him.

“I'm not your nurse.” He tilts his head and looks at you, full bottom lip sticking out.

“But you are my fiancée. Doesn't that come with some sort of duty to help me?”

 

You follow him into his bedroom and watch as he lifts himself on to his kingsize bed. He lies down on his back and gestures at the bedside table. You reach for the syringe.

“The salve.” He barks and you jump in surprise “It helps more.” Of course he wanted the medicine that required the most physical contact now that you were the one to administer it instead of Birgitta. You get on your knees on the bed and start to open the tube, opening your mouth to remind him that he needs to take off his pants if you are to rub his legs. Ivar strikes like a viper, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking at it hard enough to make you fall on your back next to him. The tube falls out of your hand. Before you can react he has crawled on top of you. One hand locks on to your chin, nails digging into skin.

“I know that you're fucking other men.” _S_ _hit_   “Mother gave you permission. I did not.” You feel as if your heart is about to explode, beating erratically. How stupid were you to think that you could hide it from him.

“Ivar...”

“What are you thinking, hmm? They are all lesser men than me.” He whispers while stroking your cheek possessively. His hands are rough from his childhood years when he refused to sit in a wheelchair, and instead dragged himself around while screaming at his legs to start working.

“Don't act stupid; you know that I'm not allowed to touch you. We still have separate bedrooms for fuck's sake!” You snarl, desperate to get out of this situation before your resolve crumbles. He scoffs at the explanation.

“And do you see anyone babysitting us to make sure we stay in separate beds?”

“Knowing your mother, there's probably cameras and microphones everywhere.” You bite back. He lifts his head to glance around the room and nods silently to himself as if thinking that you're probably right. His tempting mouth morphs into a wicked grin, nearly making you moan at the sight, as he turns to face you again.

“Then let's give whoever is watching the footage a show.” He leans in, drops his voice to a whisper, and breathes into your ear “And you better enjoy it; I don't want to look like a fool.” The thinly veiled threat makes you freeze in place; you're not sure if you're more terrified or more excited. His free hand wanders to the front of your blouse, deftly undoing the buttons. He sighs upon seeing your bra.

“Beige? I prefer the purple one, it's a much more royal colour. More suitable for a princess of such a powerful organisation.”

“You've been spying on me?” You yelp, trying to ignore the gathering wetness between your thighs.

“No. But you were gone yesterday and I was bored so I looked through your drawers.” He answers as if it's the most natural thing in the world. You grind your teeth and curse yourself for getting wet at the thought of Ivar picking out underwear for you. The doorbell rings and you motion to get up. Ivar grabs your wrists and pins you under him, then moves one hand back to your chin.

“It's just some neighbour. Probably Åse wanting to borrow sugar for her incessant baking.”

“I like her brownies.” You whine and try to get up again but Ivar is heavy on top of you.

“Shut up.” He drags his hips against yours and an involuntary gasp escapes your mouth. He's proud of himself for pulling that noise out of you and there's definitely something growing under the fabric of his pants. On impulse you start to move your hips, grinding against him. His jaw slackens and the feeling of his bulge against your thigh silences the cautioning voice that sounds suspiciously like your brother-in-law. If there are any cameras in the apartment, Aslaug will see that it was Ivar that initiated this; not you. She will see that you tried to get up but that Ivar kept you pinned under him. Surely, she can't blame you for trying to please your fiancé. You let go of the stupid mantra and lock eyes with Ivar. He sees the submissiveness written plainly across your face and chuckles.

“There's a good girl.” He makes the same delicious dragging movement again. He doesn't bother with removing your bra, opting instead to tug at the cups until your breasts are exposed. Ivar tentatively rolls one nipple between his fingers. There's a curious look on his face, as if he's more interested in how it feels than whether you like it or not. You push your hips hard against his, breaking through his concentration. He closes the distance and captures your lips in a hungry kiss. He uses his grip on your chin to force your mouth open, slipping his tongue inside and eagerly roaming this unknown territory. You know that he's inexperienced and prepare to guide him through it. _If he will allow me_. The doorbell rings again and he hisses into your mouth, pushing even harder against you.

“Sssh, love. I'm not going anywhere.” You say in a soothing voice, hoping that the sound of the doorbell won't make him snap and become violent. Your hands wander to the shirt that's tucked into his trousers, pulling at it to expose his mouthwatering stomach. There's a series of loud noises as someone opens the front door and comes storming down the hallway. Your eyes widen in shock; it's not just a neighbour. The bedroom door slams open and a tall man dressed in a dark tartan suit walks inside, gun in his hand. _Shit,_ _shit and thrice shit_. The new arrival stops in his tracks and stares at the scene in front of him.

“Oh my.” He says in a London accent, the corners of his mouth turning up into a grin while he lowers the gun.

“Fuck off, outsider.” Ivar snarls in broken English, not loosening his grip on you.

“I don't think so, Ivar. I do have business with you.” Mr. Hiddleston replies while dusting away some invisible dirt from his dark grey suit.

“Mr Ragnarsson.” Ivar corrects him through gritted teeth. You look at Tom pleadingly, hoping that he will back off. You're not worried abut him being mad at you for sleeping with someone else; he knows about the agreement with Aslaug and he knows that he's not the only one you are seeing. Ivar on the other hand doesn't know about Tom; if he did, Tom would already be in a bodybag. Ivar loathes the British man; he always insists that his mother wants to keep the organization strictly Nordic. On the other hand, it was Ragnar who hired mr Hiddleston shortly before his own passing and Ivar doesn't want to disrespect his father. You had expected Aslaug to get rid of the Brit as soon as Ragnar died but he had proven himself very useful and was allowed to stay. Tom looks at your naked breasts shamelessly, the smile still decorating his face. You look away, hoping that Tom will follow suit before Ivar catches on. It's too late; your fiancé's perceptive eyes doesn't miss anything. Ivar's nails dig even deeper into your skin and you can feel a drop of blood well from under his thumb as he forces you to look at him.

“Him?!” He roars. Tom strides towards the bed on long legs while your mouth opens and closes as if you are a fish on dry land.

“That is no way to treat your woman.” He hisses.

“Shut up.“ Ivar screams at his rival. Your fiancé looks down on you, his rage threatening to burn away the skin on your face.

“I should force my cock down your throat until you choke on it, (y/n).” A sob escapes before you can stop it, something that only seems to egg Ivar on as he leans in even closer and draws small circles with his thumb to smear the blood.

“Do you think I'm just going to stand here and watch as you do that?” Tom says, a coldness in his voice that you've only heard him use when dealing with the foolish few who dare try to betray Aslaug. Ivar growls in response and turns to look at Tom, who still has his easy-to-hide gun in his lowered hand. While they stare each other down, waiting for the other to take the last step, you hurriedly remove Ivar's belt and open his zipper. He gives up a strange, barking laughter.

“See? She's already getting ready to receive her punishment. She knows that she's mine.” You can almost hear Tom's jaws slamming shut.

“I'm not leaving until I know you're not going to hurt her.” In a desperate attempt to regain some control you slip your hand inside Ivar's underwear, wrapping gentle fingers around his cock. It seems that the yelling hasn't dampened his arousal; he's still erect.

“I'll take care of you, love. I'm yours.” You say in a raspy voice while stroking him. Ivar moans softly. The situation is spiralling out of control and you're terrified of what might happen if Tom doesn't back off; but it's not nearly as horrifying as the thought of what your fiancé will do to you if your lover leaves you at his mercy.

“Ivar, I'm yours. But...” You take a deep breath to steady yourself and pray that the words you're about to utter won't get you killed “Let Tom show you what I like.” Ivar's entire face turns a shade of red as he fights to gain some control over the conflicting emotions you're drawing out of him at the moment. Then a flick switches somewhere inside him as he remembers something. You fight to hold back tears as Ivar's hand slides from your chin to instead wrap around your throat.

“Having him teach me as if I don't know what I'm doing, everything captured on camera so that the entire syndikat can look and laugh?! You would like that, wouldn't you, hore?” He snarls while pressing down. The sudden lack of air makes the ball of fear in your stomach grow even heavier. There's something else too, something you can't quite put your finger on.

“There are no cameras here!” Tom yells, desperate to stop your fiancé from killing you but reluctant to do anything that might cost him his job. Ivar wrinkles his brow in confusion and loosens his grip. Air rushes through your open airways; it has never felt so good to breathe.

“Not yet.” Tom continues when he sees the suspicious look on Ivar's face, waving his hand to indicate that something has happened that slowed Aslaug's plans. Thankful for this information, you continue with your plan. You have to weigh your words carefully unless you want to end up beaten half to death.

“I have very special tastes; things that require practice. Besides, you don't expect me to immediately go from having several men to having only one, do you? Don't be so cruel, love, give me some time to adjust.” You purr, voice a little shaky. Ivar bares his teeth and starts to grind against you again while staring Tom down. Even though you're terrified you sense that things might just go your way and you give in to the jolts of pleasure that Ivar is producing with his deep movements, whimpering under him to let him know that what he is doing feels good. Finally he speaks up.

“Fine. But after this, you're all mine.” The ball in your stomach dissolves and you sigh in relief. You turn to flash an inviting smile at your lover while your hands start to tug at Ivar's shirt.

“Tom-” You start but he cuts you off.

“No.” He huffs and looks away, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn't mind sharing, as long as he doesn't have to see the other men; other women were not a problem. But this is a very special situation and you need him to share like a good boy.

“Let me talk to him.” You beg. Ivar rolls on to his side, allowing you to crawl on all fours to the other side of the bed where Tom is standing. He bends down so that he can see you properly and you cup his face in your hands, pulling him closer.

“Stay. Don't let him hurt me.” You whisper in his ear. His shoulders tense for a moment, then he sighs deeply and pulls back again, nodding at you. You lay down on your back in the middle of the bed.

“He doesn't get to put any more of his outsider cum in you.” Your fiancé says in a menacing voice while Tom removes his jacket and tucks the Colt inside the concealed pocket .

“She has never allowed me to do that.” Ivar's face softens at the thought that he might be the first man allowed to spill inside you. You don't have the heart, or stupidity, to tell him that all the men from before your arrangement with Aslaug has beaten him to it. Ivar crawls on top of you again and pulls the cover over the two of you before guiding your hands to his now wrinkled shirt to signal that you are to help him undress. You happily oblige, yet can't stop yourself from glancing over at Tom as he starts to unbutton his shirt. Fuck, he's handsome. He's the only one with a jawline that can rival Ivar's and his lighter curls looks almost as inviting as your fiancé's dark hair. Tom has been an excellent substitute and even though it has never been serious you know you're going to miss his experienced touch.

“Don't look at him.” Ivar warns and you hurry to turn back and melt your mouth to your fiancé's while undoing the top buttons of his shirt. Heat floods your body as his chest is laid bare before you and you mewl quietly. Nipping at the warm skin, your hands wander to his trousers, pushing them down from his hips. He tenses and you hurry to reassure him by palming his length through the boxer briefs.

“Such a good boy, so hard for me.” A soft whimper leaves his mouth and he relaxes a bit, allowing you to push his pants down the rest of the way using your feet. The mattress shifts as Tom comes into bed.

“Lie down next to her and take off her pants.” He orders your fiancé. It's impossible not to notice just how much Ivar is struggling not to snap at the outsider so you hurry to press a reassuring kiss to his knuckles. Long and rough fingers find the buttons and slowly undo them, while smoother hands relieve you off your blouse and push the bra straps down from your shoulders. Looking down, you see that Ivar is completely transfixed with the spot that is growing at your underwear. The blue in his eyes is long gone, swallowed by his pupils, and his fingers are hooked around the edges of the silky fabric. Just as he starts tugging at your underwear, Tom's voice cuts through the fog.

“On your stomach, kitten.” Ivar bares his teeth and reluctantly lets go of you so that you can move. You reposition so that you're on your stomach between the two men and moan softly in anticipation, knowing exactly what Tom plans on doing.

“Hear how much she likes this, Ivar. We haven't even started yet.” He chuckles while unhooking your bra. You stretch your arms out one at a time and then lift your chest slightly from the mattress so that he can remove the bra.

“Now you watch me, and then you copy.” Ivar's fingernails dig into your leg as Tom places light kisses on the back of your neck. You arc into his touch as he works his way down the right side of your back, nipping and kissing all the way down to the edge of your panties. Then there are two mouths on you; eagerly repeating the movements down your back. Now that Ivar has joined in, you let out the noises that you've been suppressing. Tom gives some further instruction that you can't quite hear through the haze that the two men have put you in.

“Hips up, (y/n).” Ivar coos and you obey without hesitation. Calloused hands find soaked panties and within seconds you are completely bare.

“Spank her.” You can practically feel Ivar's eyes widen in shock. He takes a deep breath and a few seconds later his hand lands gently on your ass; you have to keep yourself from scoffing at this poor attempt.

“Not like that.” Tom chides “Like this.” A soft hand strikes against your buttocks, the cracking sound quickly followed by a moan. Ivar gasps at the sound of your pleasure; he tries again, harder this time.

“Please, love, I'll be good.” You beg while squirming under him. _Crack_. A grunt from Ivar as you wince in pain, followed by a soothing hand stroking the targeted area. _He's a fast learner_. Tom murmurs something under his breath but you're only able to catch the words _talk to her_

“My fiancée the whore. Did you crawl in to bed with Dag as well, hmm?” _Crack_ “Or does he just take you in the back seat?” Another soothing movement while he speaks.

“Not Dag, never Dag.” You pant, to flustered to form a proper sentence. _Crack_.

“Are you sure about that? Because I know that he thinks about you when stroking his sad little cock.” _Crack_.

“I-i didn't know.” You gasp in genuine surprise.

“And you haven't done anything to encourage him?” You only shake your head in response. _Crack_. It's the hardest strike so far and you nearly scream. He hasn't eased the pain for the last three strikes and tears are forming at the corners of your eyes but you want more.

“Answer me.” Ivar demands.

“No, Ivar, I haven't done anything to encourage him. Only been polite.” Your entire body is trembling as you plead with your intended husband.

“I told you that I don't like the way he looks at you, and you didn't listen.” _Crack_. He strikes even harder this time and you bite down on a pillow as your body jerks violently under Ivar's onslaught. Tom tries to interrupt but Ivar hisses in warning, something that you feel strangely thankful for. _He's claiming me as his now, truly his._

“But I was right. Now apologize.” _Crack_.

“I'm sorry.” You sob. Both of the men fall silent for a few agonizing seconds.

“I appreciate your apology.” Ivar says, finally stroking your sore skin to ease the pain. Tom lies flat on his stomach, pushes the hair out of your face and looks at you, his eyes filled with concern. You manage a weak smile and mouth _I'm okay_. It can't look very convincing, seeing as there are tears running down your cheeks, but he accepts it and pulls back again.

“Where do you keep your gun?” Your lover asks suddenly.

“Are you asking me to blow your brains out?” Ivar snorts while you turn on your side to let your fiancé embrace you, one of his hands still stroking over the marks. Tom shoots him a tired glare as if to say _Just answer the question_. Ivar gestures at the nightstand and Tom immediately reaches his hand out.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ivar snaps and you hurry to calm him again.

“It's all right, love. He's not going to do anything stupid.” You turn to glare at your lover as he opens the top drawer and takes out the gun “Right, Tom?”

“Don't worry; I have no desire to end up in one of Aslaug's bodybags.” He says while unloading Ivar's gun. You snort quietly into your fiancé's chest, knowing that ending up in a bodybag would be a faith far to kind for anyone who hurt any of dróttning Aslaug's children. Tom returns to your side and you lay on your back again, allowing him to settle the Colt M1911.38 between your breasts. The cold metal makes you shiver and you arc into the weapon. Ivar's eyes flick back and forth between you and Tom, trying to grasp what is happening. Your charming Brit smiles at Ivar and answers the silent question.

“We're going to fuck her with it.” He locks eyes with you and begins to caress your cheek “As soon as she's made it wet like a good little kitten.” He lifts the muzzle to your face, letting it brush against your lips. Your tongue darts out and you begin to kitty lick your fiancé's weapon.

“Stretch her with your fingers.” Tom orders without breaking eye contact. Ivar's fingers brush against your thigh and your heart softens when you notice that he's trembling. You consider saying something encouraging but quickly push the thought aside again; he doesn't need Tom to know about this. A shy pointer finger fumbles over your folds before finding your opening and working its way inside; slowly first, but then more eagerly as he notices the way your hips are grinding to meet his movements. Tom pinches your nipple, bringing your attention back from Ivar's actions.

“Not just the tip, kitten.” He reminds you while flashing a teasing smile. You part your lips and let your tongue move in broad strokes over the barrel, mewling softly as you feel the weapon heat up due to your loving attention. Just as you're about to ready the trigger guard Ivar adds another finger and lets them curl inside you.

“Yes, such a good boy.” You groan while squirming down on his hand and you think you can see a smile playing at his lips

“Focus.” Tom orders and you quickly lave at the trigger guard to make sure that it will be more comfortable for you once it begins to move against your skin. Tom seems amused at the eagerness you're displaying and you can see small wrinkles form at the corners of his blue-green eyes as his mouth forms into a wide smile.

“She's ready now.” He states with eyes full of mischief “Watch as she comes undone.” You can tell that Ivar is about to protest; he wants to do it. You massage his scalp to get his attention

“Not the first time, love. Just look. I promise that you will get to be inside me.” Moving further down your body, Tom lets the muzzle tease at your opening for a few seconds before slowly sliding the length of the barrel inside. He takes his time, knowing that this has a longer barrel than the Colt 1908 that you're used to. Your fiancé pulls himself up next to you and you rest your head against his shoulder while Tom begins to pump the M1911 in and out.

“Gods, you're twisted woman.” Ivar drawls into your ear as he watches you contort in pleasure. You don't have to ask Ivar if he likes this side of you; his face is full of reverence and it's obvious that he's itching to do this on his own. He is so caught up that he doesn't bother to cover up his lower body. You can see his erection straining against the white boxer briefs and decide to relieve him.

“Love.” You groan into his ear while clawing at the waistband. He hesitates at first, but when you palm him through the fabric and whisper a needy _please_ in his ear he shifts his hips and gives you a helping hand. _Helvede_. You run a finger up his length and the way it twitches at the touch makes you squeal in delight.

“Tom, wait.” You pant. Your lover stops his motions and looks up at you. He sees you gesture weakly towards Ivar's throbbing cock. Your fiancé tenses, unsure if you're about to mock his manhood or praise it.

“I want to take care of my fiancé.” Ivar lets out a hiss and claws at your skin. Tom retracts the gun and waits for you to reposition. You lay on your side, your upper body supported by a pillow so that your head is level with Ivar's crotch as he sits with his back against the headboard. Tom moves up behind you. He bends his left leg, knee pointing towards the ceiling, and then swings your left leg over his bent knee to keep you open for him.

“Ready, kitten?” He purrs into your ear, stubble scratching against your cheek. You nod, never breaking eye contact with your fiancé who is looking at you with with so much anticipation radiating from him that you can almost see it in the air. The barrel makes its way inside you again and you take a few seconds to readjust to the feeling. Then you open your mouth to Ivar, gently taking his tip between your lips and letting your tongue tease it. A calloused hand finds your hair and begins to stroke it in an affectionate gesture while you spread the precum over his head.

Curse Aslaug for keeping his delicious cock away from you for so long; the only upside is that you'd never gotten to have your two favourite boys taking care of you together. Your mind is foggy, barely able to register this as something real and not just a vivid dream. Someone murmurs something but you're not listening because there are much more important things to focus on right now; the feeling of your fiancé in your mouth and his weapon being expertly worked further down. The sensations would be pleasant enough on their own but combined they are overwhelming. Sharp teeth scrapes over your shoulder and you know that you're seconds away from pure bliss. Tom bites down on your shoulder and you let go of Ivar's cock, screaming as the jolt of pain sends you over the edge. Ivar clamps his hand over your mouth to muffle your noises.

“Sssh, the front door's unlocked and I don't need another person walking in on us.” He presses you close to him while you ride out the orgasm, your sweaty face resting against the v on his hips. Tom's mouth soothes the bite mark. Once you've caught your breath, you wriggle away from the tender lips.

“Stop it.” You order. Your lover retreats silently and watches as you free yourself from Ivar's grip. Rolling onto your back, you tug at your fiancé to make him position over you.

“Now, love.” You wrap your still shaking legs around Ivar's waist and urge him on as he presses inside you with ease. He moves awkwardly at first as he tries to set a pace. You brush his tousled hair out of the way and press your lips to his ear.

“Don't go easy on me.” Taking these words to heart, Ivar begins to pound you relentlessly. Pressed down in to the mattress under his violent onslaught, you squirm and whimper while repeating over and over how good he feels. Someone pinches your arm to get your attention. Turning your head, you see Tom looking at you with pleading eyes and chest heaving from excitement, silently asking when he will get taken care of. How to bring this up with Ivar? The sweet ache caused by your fiancé is making it difficult to think and Tom speaks up before you can think of what to say.

“I understand that you don't want my seed in your woman but...” His fingers trace down your side “I think I deserve some sort of thanks for being a good teacher.” Ivar lifts a hand from the bed and swats the intruding fingers away.

“She can finish you with her hand, but you keep your grubby paws to yourself.” He growls. Not waiting for you to agree, Tom shimmies out of his underwear, roughly grabs your wrist and guides your hand to his cock. You stroke his length almost furiously, wanting him to shout as he crumbles in your grip one last time before you part ways. Ivar places a hand on your cheek, reminding you to look at him and not at your lover. It is an easy task because his piercing blue eyes are deserving of every last drip of attention. Tom roars while snapping his hips into your grip and then shudders all over as his cum soaks your hand, some stray drops landing on one of the pillows.

“Kitten.” He whispers, sounding almost sad. Ivar glares angrily at your hand and you take the hint, wiping it clean against the pillow before letting it rest on his biceps. He slows his pace for a moment and presses his lips to your forehead. You trace his muscular arms with your fingers, revelling in the feeling of his full lips carrying out such a gentle action instead of the usual spiteful words. But you told him not to go easy on you.

“Choke me.” Ivar jerks his head back and stares at you. The thought had crossed your mind before; letting someone deny you air. It had never seemed very appealing but Ivar's hand fit so nicely around your throat. You lift your chin, presenting yourself to him. His hand creeps up your chest. It reaches its destination and he turns to look at Tom, a proud grin spreading over your fiancé's face.

“You think you know everything about her but I can see in your eyes that she's never asked you to do this to her.” Ivar muses. It's true, Tom looks shocked.

“Just watch and learn.” Ivar taunts as he begins to press down. The first time he only makes you struggle a bit, the air straining to make its way through your airways. Heat shoots straight through your core and you lick your bottom lip while looking at him intently. Encouraged by the sight under him, he tries again; this time cutting of your breath completely. You grab his hips and once he allows you to breathe again you pull at them.

“Harder.” You rasp. He slams both his fists into the bed so that he can put more strength behind his thrusts. Ivar looks ready to burst, a redness spreading over his chest and face as he snarls like some wild animal above you. You feel yourself coming closer to your second climax and you lift your chin again. The feeling of Ivar claiming you, hand at your throat and delicious cock pounding you savagely, sends you over the edge and you arc into him. No scream leaves your mouth this time, only a barely audible gasp making it through the narrowed passage. Sinking back onto the mattress, you are finally allowed to breathe again as Ivar releases you to give one last thrust. You barely register the way he howls when he spills, or the feeling of his cum trickling down your thigh. Everything seems to move in slow-motion as he wraps his arms around you and rolls to the side, bringing you with him so that you're pressed against his chest. Ivar's breathing slows down and he drifts off to sleep. You are just about to follow him when soft fingers brush away the hair that sticks to your forehead.

“Goodbye, kitten.”


End file.
